


Just a Palmful of Elbow Grease

by lemonsweet



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Borderline Fisting, Canon-Typical Ableism, Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Smuggling, Underage - Freeform, Unsafe Sex, Unsafe Smuggling Practices, insertion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:31:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4404551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsweet/pseuds/lemonsweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morty encounters some difficulties while attempting to smuggle some inter-dimensional contraband for his grandfather.</p><p>It occurrs to Rick that Morty is taking an awfully long time in the bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Palmful of Elbow Grease

**Author's Note:**

> im here to sin 8)
> 
> this fic features incest separated by two generations so if you're NOT here to see this -- well I'm not really sure how you got here? but it would probably best if you navigated away from this page as quickly as possible.

Rick taps his foot impatiently as he waits.  The queue is moving slowly enough, but Morty has been gone for a long time.  There would be no point in saving their spot and reaching the gate in a timely manner without his grandson – and the mega seeds.

He sighs as he approaches the front of the security queue.  It’s still a long ways away, but if he waits any longer he can’t expect to leave the crowd without drawing suspicion.

Only smugglers and drug dealers bail right before the end of the line, and he doesn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.

He makes his way to the bathroom, grateful he’d thought to glance over and see which one Morty had entered.  Alien genders aren’t that difficult for Rick to parse, but obviously they’re a social construct Morty has no experience with, so it’s not like the kid would have a preference for Rick to take note of.

He pushes the door open and walks inside, cool as can be for the cameras pointed his way.

A quiet breath hitches in the echoing linoleum of the public restroom. 

Rick rolls his eyes. 

“Gee, I  _wonder_  if anyone could be in  _here_?” he announces dramatically, before slamming the doors open one after the other to ensure that they’re alone.  At the last stall – the one through which he can hear Morty’s breathing and see a flash of his unclothed legs through the improprietary gap between the swinging door and the stall – he knocks unnecessarily.  "Morty,“ he said, “what the hell are you doing in there?  W-We got places to be, Morty.”

“Rick,” Morty whines, and his voice is warbling. 

Oh, boy. 

“They’re too big,” comes his plaintive voice, and Rick groans and bangs his head against the door.  "S-S- _Sorry_  my butthole i-isn’t, it can’t fit your stupid seeds, Rick!“ 

Rick just barely refrains from making the jab that’s on the tip of his tongue by taking his flask out and taking a swig.

"M-Morty," he says as he wipes the alcohol from his lips, "I need those seeds, and I need them up your butthole if we’re gonna get them through customs!" 

"Couldn’t you have just gone through customs without them,” Morty asks, “and, a-a-and come back later, when your portal gun was charged?" 

"Look Morty, I don’t have– _UR_ _RP–_ have time to explain the, th-th-the complicated logistical reasons why that’s a terrible idea.  Can’t you try harder?" 

"Rick, I’ve been trying this  _whole time!”_   Morty’s voice cracks, and Rick holds his breath.  "I’m dry, a-a-and sore, and these seeds are like, the size of my head, Rick!“ 

There’s a small sniffle, and Rick jumps into action.  "Okay Morty, it’s okay, don’t worry little buddy.”  He glances around the bathroom, in case it were liable to become less empty since he came in.  They were lucky it wasn’t peak traveling hours at inter-dimensional customs.  "Your old man Rick is gonna help you get those seeds up your butt.“ 

 _"What?!”_   Morty yelps, but Rick is already scaling the bathroom stall.  He drops to the floor and takes in the sight of his grandson: he’s sitting on the toilet with his pants and tighty whiteys around his ankles, eyes red-rimmed, and Rick’s seeds in either hand.  "What the  _hell_ , Rick?  Y-Y-You couldn’t have just asked me to, to unlock the door?“ 

"Call me crazy, Morty, but I thought you might have your hands full.”  So saying, he takes the seeds from Morty's hands and drops them in his pockets for safe-keeping, resolutely _not_ thinking of where they'd just been.  He pulls his flask out again, twirls it around to gauge its contents.  He grimaces: it’s only half full, but desperate times…  "Here,“ he says, offering the flask to Morty.  "You’re gonna want some of this." 

Morty’s face twists with disgust.  “Ugh!  I’m not going to drink your shitty alcohol, Rick!  It -- It smells like cat piss." 

Rick raises one half of his unibrow and shrugs.  "Suit yourself, Morty,” he says with a shrug, "But I've--URRRP--I've been around the block and, and I know how to take the, th-th-the edge offa shoving contraband up my butthole." To demonstrate the virtue of alcoholism, he takes a swig for himself. 

Morty looks about to refuse, but apparently there _is_  a sensible brain cell or two in there to rub together, because he stops his thought in its tracks with his mouth partway open.  He appears to consider the offer. 

Rick holds the flask out and wiggles it. 

Morty snatches it from Rick with a glare.  He pinches his nose (Rick snorts) and tilts his head back as he imbibes the last of Rick’s spirits. 

His body pitches forward violently off the toilet and Rick catches him – there’s room in the stall to do little else – as Morty heaves, and years of partying have polished  _this_  reflex of Rick’s well enough.  He seizes the boy by the shoulders and turns him toward the toilet, into which he hacks and heaves violently.

Morty's shoulders are shaking hard enough to dislodge Rick's hands, if he has half a mind to keep them there, so he wraps his arms around Morty's torso instead.  The flask falls to the floor, and though it irks him, Rick is determined to ignore it for the time being.  Morty's flailing hands eventually land upon Rick's arms across his chest.  The bitterness of the alcohol has made him salivate to the point of drool dripping over his lips and onto the toilet seat.

Eventually Morty's gag reflex settles down and he’s gulping deep breaths of public restroom toilet.

“ _Jeez_ , Rick, w-w-why would you wanna drink that stuff?" 

"If you’re lucky, Morty, you’ll never find out.”  Rick burps over Morty’s shoulder, eliciting a disgusted groan and a chest spasm, but the kid manages to keep his breakfast down.  Rick carefully extricates his arms from around Morty’s torso, ensuring he isn’t going to fall face first into the tepid, filthy toilet water as he does so. 

“All right, Morty,” Rick says, “lean on the toilet reservoir so I can stick these seeds up your butt." 

"R-Rick, wait,” Morty says, even as he does as he’s told, “if you put something up my butt isn’t that like… incestuous?  Like, w-w-what the hell even–" 

"Sure Morty, what–URRRP–whatever makes this better for you.”  Rick reaches into the pockets of his lab coat for a bottle of lube.  It’s almost empty, he notes with dissatisfaction, and makes a mental note to pick up more.  He pops it open, rolls his sleeves up, and pours the viscous fluid into his hand so it can warm.  "Did you already use the toilet?“ 

Morty’s face turns bright red from where he’s resting it on his arms.  "Y-Yeah, Rick, jeez, I’m not gonna, clog a bunch of junk up there–" 

"Good,” Rick says, “you ready?" 

Morty sighs.  "Yeah, all right…" 

Satisfied, Rick dips the fingers of his free hand into the pool of lubrication in his palm and presses his index finger against Morty’s asshole.   
  
Morty hisses – it’s obvious the surrounding area is raw from his previous efforts, and Rick tries to calculate how much longer this will take with just that consideration.   
  
Before he even penetrates the kid, he spreads the lukewarm lube on the surrounding flesh on the off chance it’ll soothe the ache of attempting and failing one too many times to shove something as huge as a mega seed inside it.  Morty’s shoulders judder at the sensation, but the taut line of his spine does relax a little.   
  
"That feel better?”  Rick asks.   
  
Instead of answering, Morty says, “I-I-I can’t believe you just  _have_  that kind of thing in, in your fucking  _lab coat._ ”   
  
“I already told you I’ve done this a million times, M–URRRP–Morty,” Rick says by way of explanation.  "Also, it’s handy when you’re traversing the galaxy and looking to have close encounters of the fifth kind.“   
  
"Wasn’t that the fourth kind?”  Morty asks, and it occurs to Rick that Morty wants to go the route of making conversation in order to compartmentalize.   
  
Kid learns fast.   
  
“They don’t show you the fifth kind in the movies, Morty,” he says, and he lubes up his index finger and pushes it into Morty’s asshole.   
  
Morty hisses and clamps his fingernails onto the skin of his arms.   
  
And those aren’t the only things that clamp down.   
  
Rick blows out a gust of air.  "Jesus, Morty,“ he says, "you’re gonna–URRRP–break your old man’s finger off in here.”   
  
“I can’t help it,” Morty huffs, hips wiggling in discomfort.  "I-I-It’s not like I do this all the time like, like  _you_ , Rick.“   
  
"Deep breaths, Morty,” Rick suggests, and finds himself taking his own advice.  "You gotta–URRRP–push out like, like you’re taking a huge shit.  The hugest shit of your life, M-Morty.“   
  
"Ugh,  _Rick,_ ” Morty protests in disgust.   
  
“Think of all the huge shits you’ve taken in your life, Morty.  They’re sure as hell bigger than your grandpa’s bony finger, so what makes this so hard?”  Rick asks rhetorically.  "It’s cause you’re tense, Morty.  Y-Y-You gotta loosen up, Morty, y-y-you gotta push out if you wanna take that shit.“   
  
"You’re awful,” Morty moans, but judging by the tomato red of his face and the fluttering of the muscles around Rick’s finger, he’s attempting to take the advice.   
  
“If it makes you f-feel any better,” Rick says as he adds another digit to a quiet grunt from Morty, “there are fewer nerve endings in your–URRP–in your ass as it gets deeper.  You ever feel a shit as it’s coming down your anal cavity?  No,” he answers on Morty’s behalf, who appears quite thoroughly occupied handling the intrusion and perhaps disinclined to respond.  "That’s ‘cause there’s–URRRP–there’d be no  _point_ , Morty.  Evolu–URGH–tionarily speaking, th-th-there’s no reason for there to be nerve endings mixed up with your smooth muscle systems.“  
  
"O-Oh,” Morty breathes, and it appears the efforts of Rick’s hand have robbed him of the capacity for speech, since he’s mostly just bracing himself on the toilet and focusing on breathing.  
  
Looks like Rick will have to pick up the slack.  
  
He pours the remainder of the lube into the palm of the hand that’s still only working two fingers into Morty’s asshole.  Prep is time-consuming if you’ve never hidden inter-dimensional contraband up your asshole before, but once he gets that first mega seed in, he knows, the second one will come easy, so he isn’t begrudging Morty the extra time it’s taking to stretch him out.  
  
“H-How,” Morty huffs, and he has to collect himself from his place of concentration to finish the question, “how many more… do you have to put in before the, um… y-y-you know.”

“That depends, Morty.”  Rick pulls his fingers out in order to nestle a third more snuggly in with the rest, then reconsiders – he digs through his pockets for the spare bottle of lube he knows he’s got somewhere.  As that hand is searching, he wiggles the shiny digits of the lately-occupied one at Morty’s unfocused eyes.  “How many of  _these_  do you think you’ll need before you’re ready for one of  _these_?” he asks, and he procures one of the mega seeds out of his pocket for comparison.

Morty’s throat works as he stares at the mega seed.

“Jeez, Rick, I dunno…  A-All of them…?” he says tentatively.

Rick replaces the mega seed in his pocket, then comes up with the second bottle of lube he’d been looking for.  “Good answer,” he says, and he gets back to work.

As he’s pushing his ring, middle, and forefinger back through Morty’s sphincter, the profuse amount of lube spills over his palm.  Morty hisses as it slides down his ass cheeks, and Rick chastises himself for the waste – but as it slips over Morty’s balls and down his dick, the kid’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth falls open, and the gears in Rick’s brain begin moving inexorably toward a solution to Morty’s discomfort.

Albeit a problematic one.

… He really shouldn’t.

He really,  _really_  shouldn’t.

But he  _was_ the one who pressured Morty into doing this for him in the first place, and in his years of experience he’d learned a thing or two about mitigating the discomfort of smuggling even the most misshapen of contraband.  It would probably be remiss not to share his knowledge with Morty, if the kid is going to start doing this sort of thing.

Maybe this will be a one-time occurrence, Rick thinks, already forgetting his anticipation at escaping successfully with the mega seeds in the face of what he is about to suggest.

For a moment he entertains the thought of stimulating Morty’s prostate and letting the kid work the rest out from there, but that makes him feel a hundred times worse.

“Uh, h-hey, Morty…”

“Yeah, Rick?”  Morty asks.  The linoleum wall and the porcelain reservoir have fogged up with his heated breaths, and his hair is plastered to his forehead.

Rick’s fingers have long since halted in their movements, giving Morty the cognitive wherewithall to focus on Rick as he speaks.  “Speaking as a man of science, who has done this, uh–URRRP–more times than I can remember, if you um…”  He’s already broached the subject – he might as well commit to it, he thinks, as he swallows down the rest of his decency.  “If you want me to stimulate your prostate, or i-i-if you wanna beat your meat while I’m sticking these seeds up your ass, it’ll uh.  URRRP.  Ease the way.  S-S-So to speak.”

Morty stares at him with wide eyes, and for a moment Rick thinks he somehow didn’t understand the question, but then he says – “Um, okay.  But uh, Rick?  W-W-What’s a prostate?”

Rick has half a mind to slap his face into his palms, but despite his rather loose definition of what’s sanitary, neither of his hands are really up to the task of letting him follow through with the urge.

“It’s a… it’s a gland that makes jizz, Morty, and if you rub it the right way you, you can jizz all over the place without–URRRP–without ever touching your dick.”

Morty blinks.  “Uh, and it’s in my…?”

“Not  _in_  your asshole, precisely,” and isn’t this a predicament, because Rick wants to gesticulate to illustrate his point but one hand is buried in Morty’s ass and the other is cradling a palmful of lube.  “It’s all in the same area, y’know, th-th-there’s only so much room in your pelvic floor for all the shit that belongs in there, Morty.”

Rick begins moving his hands again, turning them so they curve downward rather than up, and…

Morty’s entire body tenses and his breath hitches, and the muscles in his anal cavity start fluctuating wildly.  “It’s there.  You wanna try it?”

Morty’s biting his lip in thought.  He scrutinizes Rick through his clouded eyes, and says, “J-Just so I can see if I… c-c-can you do that again…?”

Rick obliges.

Morty jerks against the toilet’s reservoir and this time vocalizes his reaction.  He meets Rick’s eyes and nods his head.  “Y-Yeah, okay.”

Rick continues working his hand into Morty’s ass, gently stimulating his prostate as he does.  When he inserts his fourth finger Morty whimpers and reaches between his legs.

“Haa…  Rick,” he murmurs into the one arm still supporting his face on the reservoir.

“I know, Morty,” Rick says.  He pulls one of the mega seeds out of his coat pocket.  “Try to stay relaxed, okay?”

“Mmm,” Morty says, brow drawn, mouth a firm line.

Rick rotates his hand slowly to stretch Morty open even further.  He works the seed over with his lube-drenched hand to ease its passage, then pushes it wide-end first against Morty’s sphincter.

“I need you to push, M-Morty,” Rick says.  “As soon as it goes in, it’ll be–URRRP–it’ll be all downhill from there, I promise.”

With their combined effort, the widest part of the seed passes through Morty’s sphincter, and the rest of it vanishes soon after.

“ _Holy shit, Rick,”_ Morty squeaks weakly.  “Y-Y-You couldn’t have started with the small end…?”

“No, Morty, because I didn’t want to puncture your colon.”

That causes some of the flush to drain from Morty’s face, but then his body shudders and the tension in some of his muscles unravels.  “Uh, Rick?  W-What…?”

“Mega seeds have a lot of uses, Morty.  It’s a natural pain-killer, for one, and right now its juices are being squeezed out by your anal cavity.  Ever taken drugs through a mucous membrane, Morty?  Kicks in  _real_  fast.”

Rick pulls out the other seed.  “I’m gonna put the other one in now, okay Morty?”

“Yeah,” Morty says weakly, and the second seed goes in point-first without a hitch.

Rick almost wipes his hands on his pants before he thinks better of it, and he takes stock of his grandson.  “D’you want me to leave you so you can finish, or…?”

“N-No,” Morty says, “I think my b-b-boner’s gone now.  But um, it helped?”

Rick shrugs and reaches down to help Morty with his pants.  Bending over with those babies in your butthole was  _not_  a pleasant experience.  “Okay, trooper, let’s go get you washed up and get our haul through security so we can get you back to class.”

Morty nods and places his hands on the reservoir to stand up, but Rick stymies the movement with a hand on his back.

“C-C-Careful, Morty – you don’t want to straighten up too quickly.  You know what I mean?”

Morty, stiffens, then relaxes, and with a nod he straightens up achingly slow, face contorting with discomfort as he does.  “Ugh, jeez Rick, this is really weird…”

“Don’t think too hard about it, Morty.  It’s easier that way,” he says, and he unlocks the stall and guides Morty to the sink where he washes his hands and helps Morty wipe down his face and his hair, and coaches him on how to walk a little more inconspicuously.

“Now, I’m gonna go back out there and get in line.  You follow in 15 minutes or so, you dig?”

“Sure,” Morty says, rubbing his ass absently as the bizarre cocktail of drugs begins to wear off.

“See you soon, Morty.  Just think: we’ll be back at your dumb school in no time!”


End file.
